


Whisked Away

by allegorical_fox



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Crossover, Female Harry Potter, Gen, Master of Death, Master of Death Harry Potter, Vignette
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-07-11 21:50:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7071847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allegorical_fox/pseuds/allegorical_fox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the war, Harry Potter finds herself summoned into another world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He had never seen anything like her, her mass of wild black hair and sharp green eyes. She appeared young but the look in her eyes told him she had seen much in her lifetime.

They called her Death.

He wasn’t quite sure what that meant. What she the personification of death? Was she a messenger? Alternatively, was she something more?

Loki was right terrified of her and Thor looked at her with something more than respect. He treated all the avengers as equals, but her—he gazed at her with something that was a mixture of anxiety, fear and reverence. It was almost as if he didn’t know what to do with himself in her presence. This would be fitting of course, if she were Death. However, there wasn’t anything that absolutely confirmed her identity either. She certainly hadn’t.

She had introduced herself as Harry Potter and she decidedly looked annoyed.

“Let me get this straight,” she paced around the room restlessly, stopping only to glare at Fury. “You summoned me from my own universe for what? To drag me into your own war and make me a pawn of your game in the name of the greater good?” At this, she paused staring at the ground with nothing but contempt in her eyes. “Not only that, you then proceed to tell me that you might not even be able to send me back.” Her eyes flared something otherworldly. The room trembled under her power.

“Lady Death,” Thor started in a calming tone. She whipped her head around to give Thor an unimpressed look. Thor back peddled and held his hands up defensively. “My father and the other guardians of Asgard may be able to aid you in your quest for home.”

Death sighed and tucked a strand of that unruly hair of hers behind her ear.

“Thank you,” she said and then probably more to herself then rest, “My family is probably worried. Ron and Hermione are going to kill me.”

He wanted to laugh. Someone kill the avatar of Death? How dreadfully ironic.

“However, you’ve all made me curious,” Harry surveyed the room with a cautious eye. “What exactly did you hope to accomplish by summoning Death’s master?"

Ah, there it was. Funny how hearing it from her did not make it any less frightening.

Fury looked annoyed.

“‘Hope to accomplish,’ she says,” Fury snorted. “We summoned you because we thought you could make a difference. Even the odds.”

Harry chuckled. “Against who? You have a Norse god, a super solider, the jolly green giant, a man in robotics—the list goes on. Point is—why do you need me to fight for you? I’ve done my part, fought my own battles. I have no need for yours.”

“Even if the fate of the world is on the line?” Fury’s expression hardened.

Harry’s eyes flashed. “You seem to forget one small detail. This is your world not mine.”

The Captain shook his head, determined and disapproving. “That shouldn’t matter. If you have the power to save lives, you should.”

He watched as the girl’s shoulders slumped in what looked like defeat. “No. I’m sorry. It’s as I said—I’m done. There is peace in my world—a hard earned peace that did not come without price. This, whatever it this is, is not my problem. You shouldn’t have summoned me.”

This girl—Death, was not what he expected. She was not hungry for destruction nor was she a true pacifist. He didn’t know how to place her.

However, Fury was having none of that. “Well we can’t just have you roaming the streets. You are an Omega Threat—we knew that when we summoned you. We do not take that kind of threat too lightly. If you are not willing to help humanity, we have to assume the worst. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to be taken in for containment.”

Omega level—shit. He had never met anyone above Alpha level.

He suppressed a shudder as the tension in the room rose and the lights started to flicker. He swore he could actually feel the anger that was coming off her in waves. Was she some sort of psychic mutant like Xavier? The air around the girl seemed charged with what—he didn’t know. He could hardly explain it…it was like magic.

“I will not be caged like some sort of animal.” She snapped her fingers and a smooth pale piece of wood appeared in her hands.

“Don’t!” someone yelled.

“Disarm her!” Fury swore.

Suddenly those around him took fire as she waved the wooden stick in her hand experimentally. With a flick of her wrist, she disappeared. Bullets fell limply to the ground where she once stood. They hadn’t even touched her.

Fury looked around. “Well?” he snapped. “Find someone to track her.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because of the incredible response I’ve got from this piece I found inspiration for what I had previously only considered to be only a one-shot. Thank you all for your comments and kudos—I really appreciate them. Now, this chapter is going to be different from the previous as you’ll notice that I’m changing POV. I think that if I do decide to do more for this, the chapters might be in different perspectives and they won’t necessarily be linear moments in time. I haven't really decided what I want to do with this yet. That said, I do have a vague idea of a few more possible chapters for this (and maybe even a series based on this concept), but I can’t promise anything. Thank you again for reading.

She had been going through names all night. The Order, Hogwarts students, teachers and hell, she even had tried the names of Death Eaters. But nothing seemed to make the wand stir.

That only meant that they didn’t exist in this world. That was nothing for the wand to point to.

And now, there was only one name left she could think of. She had exhausted all other options and this was the one she was dreading the most.

“Point Me to Tom Marvolo Riddle!” she growled at the wand.

In a normal wand, this kind of identification would never have worked across such distances. But this was no normal wand—this was a wand crafted by Death itself. She felt instinctively that it would work.

And sure enough, the Elder wand rotated in her hands confirming that the only person in this world that existed from her own was Voldemort and damn if that wasn’t comforting in the slightest.

She cursed her luck. Out of all the people in the universe, why _him_? 

Thor hadn’t been much help in the end. He and the other Asgardian’s had promised to keep searching for a way to send her home but she had quickly surmised that her prospects didn’t look that promising. Thor had not so subtly suggested that she join “the team” while she waited, but that would mean being in direct contact with SHEILD and she wanted no part of that. 

She never would have thought it would come to this. Where she would willingly seek out Tom Riddle for help.

When she finally found him, he looked as ageless as she felt.

He looked thirty at best (if that) and not the ninety something she knew he truly was. She felt like screaming. In what universe was it fair that Tom Riddle aged this attractively? Oh yeah, she thought, _this_ one apparently.

He looked just like he had in the diary, except obviously a little older. He looked a little less crazy, a little less snake-like but all the same, there was something even this Tom clearly shared with his counterpart (even if it was to a lesser degree).

“May I help you?” he asked crossing his legs and linking his hands imperiously before her. She had found him in an office and it was fitting, she supposed, that he was a businessman. Voldemort always had been charismatic to a degree—even if was the scary, dangerous kind.

She willed herself not to be intimidated by this Tom Riddle. She felt the hackles of her Gryffindor courage rise up.

“My, my…time certainly hasn’t touched you, has it _Tom_?” she said laying down the bait.

Of course, he didn’t go by Tom Riddle in this life either. Although it was still his birth name, she imagined that he had ditched it and made up a new one for himself just like he had in her world. She wondered how alike their motives were in hiding their true name if magic didn’t exist in this world…did he change his name to cover up that he wasn’t aging? It made her curious.

He smirked at her; the familiarity of it sent chills up her spine. “I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about, Miss…Potter, was it? You seem to have mistaken me for someone else.”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t play coy with me. I _know_ you.” she placed her hands on his desk so that she was above him and he had to look up at her. “Even in this world, I find you remarkably unchanged. Do you believe in fate, Tom?” 

Something changed in his eyes and before she knew it, he abruptly stood up and the loud bang of a gun sounded in his office. Tom held the gun up to her abdomen, staring at her with acute horror as she seemed large unaffected by the gaping hole in her stomach.

“Now that was just rude.” she remarked as he backed himself into a corner, the gun perceptively shaking in his hands.

“W-what are you?” he glared at her. 

She laughed, only one thing coming to mind. “ _La belle dame sans merci._ ”

Tom’s face instantly morphed into irritation. He was tiring of this little game of hers. “Clearly,” he said, shoving her away from him.

Finally, she thought. He was beginning to act a little more like the Voldemort she had expected him to be.

“Enough with the pleasantries,” Tom spat, putting the gun away in the desk. “Why are you really here?”

Pleasantries? _Was he joking_? For time’s sake, she chose to ignore that.

“You’re going to help me get home,” she said with a wicked smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _La Belle Dame Sans Merci_ is reference to the Keats poem.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter in which Tom makes some bad decisions

“We need to obtain a piece of technology from Stark’s labs. Can you get us in?” Riddle asked.

Harry crossed her arms across her chest. “Sure. Don’t worry about the cameras or any tracking devices. Magic and technology don’t mix very well.” She tapped her wand at her wrist, summoning a shimmery cloak into her hands.

While he was slowly getting used to her doing magic in front of him, he wondered when he’d stop feeling amazed every time she conjured up inane items into being.

“And just how do you suppose we are going get into Stark’s with a mere blanket?” he asked a little condescendingly. Honestly, he thought she was better than that.

“Oh Tom,” she shook her head, wrapping the fabric around her as if it were a shawl. His eyes gradually widened as her body disappeared underneath it. “Did you ever doubt me?”

His hand tensed, the scar stretching the skin on the back of his hand uncomfortably thin. He let his face settle into a scowl. “Let’s not waste time then.”

While it was common knowledge that Stark’s labs hosted some of the most innovative technology in the Western Hemisphere, Tom’s sources had informed him that there was something left over from the Avenger’s time with SHEILD. Something that Stark had recovered for himself before the Avenger’s had disbanded. It wasn’t the tesseract, mind you, but if Stark was keeping it private, hidden away with airtight lock then it was worth looking into. And the less the girl knew the better.

“What are we looking for anyways?” Potter sidled up to him, questioned a little too cheerfully. Although he disliked her presence—especially so close to his person—he gave no indication of it. It was no secret that he disliked her. It was something mutually felt. She just seemed to not care for personal boundaries, least of all his.

“A necklace.” He replied curtly.

“A what now?”

He scowled at her and dug the picture he had for reference out of his pocket impatiently. She examined it, looking at the sleek looking silver choker. “You press the button on the back of it and it becomes a clasp.”

“Oh,” she said. “That’s great. But what does it do?”

“We’ll have to find out, now, won’t we?” he uttered sardonically.

“Merlin, Tom, do you know _anything_ about this thing?” she asked him, a little disbelief leaking into her voice.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair restlessly. “All I know is that it wasn’t Stark’s creation. It came into his possession when it became apparent that the owner’s security system wasn’t up to par when they realized they couldn’t fend off a pesky little thief. I assume they asked Stark to stash it away so it didn’t fall into the ‘wrong hands’.”

Although the object was still in the experiential phases of creation, it clearly was functional enough to fetch for a high price. The fact that the purpose of the object (or the object itself) wasn’t public knowledge was a testament to how important it was to the owner. It was the kind of item that only a collector like himself could appreciate.

Harry hummed thoughtfully from where she stood. He idly wondered what she was thinking. Her brain was strange, he decided, just like her. She had her moments of intelligence; he’d give her that. However, they were far and few between, it seemed. He still didn’t know what she was. But she had magic and if he could get even a fraction of that power…not even’s Stark’s friends with their little toys could stop him.

* * *

 Lost in thought, he didn’t catch the way Harry’s eyes raked over his face both considering and weary. She had seen that expression before on the Tom Riddle in her world. Then, they had both been in a graveyard, him admiring his newly created body and Cedric Diggory lying dead at her feet.

She didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him. But she wanted to trust him. Oh, and she did want to. He was familiar even if he was just as much of megalomaniac asshat as the version of him in her world. On some level, she recognized she was still clinging to remnants of the world she had lost. Her present company was huge indication of that.

But still…

Something was up. And she didn’t know what it was, but she didn’t like it.

Getting into Stark’s lab was remarkably easy. Finding the necklace would have been hard in Stark’s labyrinth of a lab but it seemed as though Tom knew exactly where to look. They located it within the first fifteen minutes of their arrival. She was glad that he didn’t seem to be a greedy thief, even if his eye did wander a little. She supposed she couldn’t blame him for that. Stark did seem to have a lot interesting toys that would tempt even Hermione’s curiosity.

But they had a mission.

When they finally got to the secluded room where the item was found, Tom handled it gingerly after she had disabled the alarms with a little magical interference.

Tom placed it in a cloth and tucked it away inside a pocket on his coat.

“You ready?” she asked.

He nodded, extending his hand with a grimace. She knew how much he hated apparition. Almost as much as the version of Tom in her world had hated her, she thought with a slight frown. But that wasn’t saying much. There wasn’t much that this Tom Riddle _did_ like, in any case. If he did like something, it was usually (as a rule) cause for alarm. The people and the things that he tended to be interested in usually ended up with someone ending up dead or worse.

And that was when they popped back into existence in his musty and deceivingly banal looking apartment. It took a bit for her eyes to adjust back to normal lighting—not everyone had Stark’s intense lab lights in their homes.

“So…what do we do with the necklace?”

“It’s a collar.” Tom replied scathingly as he took said object out of his jacket.

“Whatever. What does it do, now that we have it?” she asked again.

“I’ll need a demonstration.” Tom said.

Harry hesitated. This was sounding more like a trap…but she nodded anyways.

He put it around her neck and pressed the little green button on the back.

“How does it feel?” he asked, his tone measuring.

She could feel a brief tingling sensation and then nothing. She wondered what the right answer was. “I’m not sure.”

“Try using your magic.” he suggested.

Silently she did a simple spell, ‘ _Flipendo_ ’ pointing her wand at the expensive looking vase on his desk, sending it backwards with a satisfying crash.

When she looked back at Tom, she found him seething on the spot. If he were the Voldemort of her world, she had the feeling she’d be Crucio-ed on the spot (or at least have a Killing Curse sent her way). But fortunately for her, he wasn’t and being Master of Death didn’t hurt her chances of survival either. However, it didn’t mean being hit with the Cruciatus curse or being shot didn’t hurt, she recalled stopping her hand from moving to where her wound had been.

“How are you still able to produce magic?” Tom raged, pacing on the spot. Clearly, she hadn’t reacted in the way he had wanted to. Then it dawned on her.

It was in that moment that she wanted to turn him into a toad. Or something equally squashable, she considered as she worked on quelling the spiteful urge that rose within her. Her conscience (which sounded a lot like Ron) reminded her that if she did kill him, she wouldn’t really be any better than him. On the other hand, she could always get back at him and as Hermione always said, don’t just get back, play the game better. She wasn’t sure she could do that with Tom…but then, unlike Hermione, Tom had this problem of not really seeing the forest for the trees, which was something he shared with the Voldemort of her world. This Tom was a _little_ better. Not by much though. Even before he had killed her parents, Voldemort had been so obsessed with his quest for immortality and in his vendetta against (and fear of) Dumbledore he ended up creating his equal and greatest enemy in her. Maybe it was partially destiny at play. You couldn’t tell her it was coincidence that she became Master of Death, being the last of the Peverell line. The fact that seers like Trelawney even existed really made her hate the idea of fate. Dumbledore had once said something about how a person’s choices that showed who they truly were, far more than their abilities. And that, she believed was the crux of it—there was always a choice. She could turn him into bug and squash him out of existence but that would be on her. And she wasn’t sure she wanted to be responsible for that. After all, you could only pass so much off as destiny before you took some of the responsibility away from yourself.

But maybe it was his destiny to always be a megalomaniac supernova. If that was the case, she wondered why she even bothered. And perhaps more significantly, she considered why she had sought him out this time around not the other way around. Were they always so fated to meet? It made her curious…in each universe where Harry Potter and Tom Riddle existed, were they always enemies? Was there a world out there where he had died when he had actually supposed to?

All that fate and destiny bullshit aside, this…this only solidified that she had made the wrong choice. He had tried to subdue her. Manage her power. While she didn’t know the exact details about the necklace, she sure as hell wasn’t going to play around with him any longer.

She snapped her fingers, summoning the Death wand from where she had dropped it and pointed it at Riddle’s chest.

“I’m not afraid of you,” he murmured silkily, his eyes betraying him.

Harry barked out a laugh and then attempted to do her best impression of Bellatrix’s unhinged leer. “You should be.”

Death comes for everyone in end. While she wouldn’t be the one to send him to Death’s waiting hands she sure as hell was going to make sure he didn't forget that she was not someone taken lightly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. I had a hard time deciding how to end this chapter but it's done, I suppose. Also, this chapter includes a not-so-subtle reference on my part to an episode from a cancelled X-Men cartoon. While I will confirm that the item they got was an inhibitor collar from the Institute, I'm really hoping someone can guess the show and if not that, then maybe the thief mentioned. I'll reveal it next chapter if people are interested.


	4. Chapter 4

Mutant classifications of power were there for a reason. They hadn’t experienced an Omega Threat on the girl’s level since days of Jean Grey’s transformation into Phoenix. An incident, which had forced them to reconsider the way they catalogued mutant powers. But that too was classified, just like the information surrounding the mutant who was only known as Cable, his previous target who was an enigmatic and currently unregistered mutant whose power levels were dangerously high. Thinking about that mission made him cringe, if only because for whatever reason Cable hung around with Deadpool (and he’d seen enough of both of them for a lifetime and it would always be too soon where they were concerned).

However, he was getting off track. It was no secret that there were power suppressors out there. The highly publicized ‘Cure’ had been one, albeit a very unstable one, but one nonetheless. But it was a dangerous business, working with genetics. At SHEILD, they had become aware of a mutant called Mr. Sinister. From their reports—which were vague and lacking in many respects—they had come to understand he was powerful psychic mutant with an equally dangerous mind. Thanks to the data gathered from one of the X-Men (who unsurprisingly hadn’t wished to be named), Sinister was not afraid push the ethical boundaries of science (although it was more like he crossed so far that the line was a dot but that was whole other discussion entirely). He was, in every sense the world, a mad scientist.

All those things though, were strictly on a need to know basis. Anyone not cleared to handle the information just wasn’t given it. It was simple: if a person didn’t know the information then they couldn’t leak it. It was a liability thing. It was no wonder that most of his knowledge was considered classified. He wasn’t too high up on the SHIELD ladder but he was high enough he supposed to know about the girl.

But he wondered though, what made her so special. Besides the whole ‘Master of Death’ thing.

Mutations weren’t always the most obvious things in people. Take his best friend Doug from college—he was a human translator in the most literal sense of the word. His mutation was considered passive but Doug could understand any language, written or spoken. Fictional or not, he recalled dryly. It then occurred to him that he had lost touch with many of his friends from college since he had joined up with SHEILD.

His own mutation, he reflected, was also considered passive. It was an inside joke among the few who knew about it that he was a human diagnostics machine. Which was a pretty useless mutation considering everything, but it did have its uses. He was SHEILD’s personal lie detector. He could detect minute alterations in a person’s heart rate. While he knew little more than basic medical skills to pass by, he was first and foremost an interrogator. It was not a job he took lightly. He had never wanted the job, but being able to read people they way he was able to was something that most people had to be trained years for. Something that was merely a byproduct of his mutation.

Which brought him to here where the Potter girl appeared to, the way her heart rate relaxed into a steady thump when she became aware of their presence. But using his mutation on her was becoming exhausting—her emotions had been running hot and cold and he didn’t need to be an empath to tell that.

Still, he was seriously starting to question SHIELD’s priorities. Before this mission he would have said that he didn’t think that he wasn’t expendable, that he was an asset to the team. Now? He wasn’t so sure.

His mutation didn’t need contact in order to find people. Which, he considered, was probably why he was here. She could be invisible but as long as she had a pulse she’d show up on his radar. But that was that was the thing—his mutation worked exactly like radar: it was imprecise and you could barely distinguish one person from another. He was not a tracker in any sense of the word.

These thoughts lingered in his head as they circled around a single word: expendable. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. He should have known working for SHIELD was going to bite him in the ass. But the pay and those benefits…okay, so he was totally glutton for punishment, but damn it if wasn’t for SHIELD’s fantastic life insurance plan (that came with the job and increased you went up in the ranks), overall pay grade and pension, he would have quit years ago.

With that in mind, after scoping the area, he gave his team go ahead. He wasn’t particularly worried about confrontation, especially when the girl could teleport. It was pretty useless to pretend otherwise. But then, she also hadn’t really reacted too kindly to Fury’s attempts at placating her. Which really, he could understand. He often disagreed with Fury’s methods, but he couldn’t deny they were effective. He got the job done, no matter what anyone else said.

The girl’s heartbeat was normal, it seemed, if a little distressed. Either she had dismissed his team as not a threat or she just didn’t care. He was willing to bet it was a combination of the two.

He knew that they wouldn’t be retrieving her today; no today was just a formality. Assess her power level and find out if she had an active mutation.

But in order to do that, confrontation was necessary. He frowned as their target finally moved into range. He was not looking forward to this.

Finding her wasn’t easy—although the facial recognition software helped somewhat. They found her mostly through the trackers on his team. His team only needed a general location and the trackers did the rest, thankfully. The first tracker had an interesting mutation that allowed her to track people and the second had no mutation and just used science.

And now the time had finally come—they had made contact. She just needed to stay in the vicinity for a good fifteen minutes or so for him to get a proper diagnosis.

Red flashes of light sped towards the members of his team with guns, their weapons flying out of their hands at contact. Those weren’t the only weapons they carried but she didn’t need to know that.

The plan was simple—so simple that he hoped to god Monroe didn’t fuck it up. Just get the girl talking—even if it was about menial things. Besides the obvious reasons concerning Monroe’s mutation and job of being a tracker, he wasn’t sure why the man was put on the team. Especially when he was—

“…which is why you’re a threat to national security!”

Damn—this is exactly why he didn’t want to work with Monroe. Right…Okay…Next course of action: damage control.

“Monroe, that’s enough. Stand down.” His voice was calm and absolute. Monroe, still enraged knew his place, sending him a look before backing off. He turned to the girl.

“Potter, was it?” She nodded. “Look Miss Potter, I’m terribly sorry about the commotion. Could we just talk? No strings attached?”

She looked at him and then his team with understandable doubt.

_Ten more minutes._

“We’re not armed. I just have a few questions, if you don’t mind. I’d also be happy to answer some of yours.”

She crossed her arms but at least she seemed to be considering his proposal.

“And just what do want from me, exactly?”

 _Thank god_ she decided not to flee. This might actually work.

“I propose a deal of information. I’ll tell you anything you want to know about SHEILD and in return, I’d like you to tell me a little about yourself.”

She frowned at this.

“I won’t press you for anything you aren’t willing to share.” He back-pedaled. He hated that his last job had made him so jumpy—but he thought it was completely warranted where Deadpool was concerned. “But let’s start off easy. I’m agent Pickford.”

“Alright Mr. Pickford. First question, what exactly do you want from me?”

Getting right to the point. He could appreciate that. While even he didn’t know the answer—he only had the clearance for so much information—he knew enough, he thought. It didn’t matter in the end how much information he knew because this was his field. He knew how to play the game and he was proud of infiltration abilities.

“As Direction Fury mentioned, you were brought here to help with the war effort…That said, we have come to realize the error in our judgment—”

“How _did_ you summon me? The marks I saw…what were they?” She interrupted, her eyes darting around from him to the rest of the team.

He inhaled sharply. _Seven minutes._ The pieces of her were slowly coming together. This needed to happen faster.

“It was a ritual based off several versions of the Book of the Dead from antiquity.” Okay, so that wasn’t completely true. But for this purpose, it was close enough.

“You’re kidding right?” when his face remained unchanged she rubbed at her forehead impatiently. “Of course you’re not. Got it—Book of the Dead. Next question: Do you plan on sending me back at all?”

“We’re working on it as we speak.” Another lie.

Potter stopped and looked at him critically.

_Four minutes._

“Working on sending me back…or for ways to lock me up?” her face was stone. Damn, this was going downhill fast.

“Well, you see…” God this was a nightmare. He was probably going to get fired for this.

“I thought so.” The bite in her tone was entirely justified. “It was nice talking to you.”

And then with a loud crack, she was gone.

_Two minutes._

“Did you get it?” one of his squad mates asked.

He reviewed the information he had gotten. Incomplete. But enough that he could decipher the information he had gotten to make a cohesive picture.

“Yeah.” he nodded, his mind racing. Processing the information he had gotten. It would take him awhile to make a proper and coherent verdict but when he did…

Despite the disaster that was their conversation, they had mostly gotten what they came for and perhaps this would finally get him closer to promotion he so desperately wanted. Maybe then he would no longer be an expendable member of the team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for all your comments and taking the time to read my story. The X-Men cartoon mentioned last chapter was Wolverine and the X-Men. But just to be clear, this story is still an Avengers crossover and not an X-Men one aha.


End file.
